SGD::Contact
by Chris7221
Summary: A year after the American Stargate program is brought back, Lieutenant Commander Michael Nicholson leads US-1 into an unexplored sector of the galaxy. They'd been expecting to find some nice forests, some Ancient ruins, maybe a minor Goa'uld at worst. Instead, they made first contact with a hostile race called the Tlak'khan. A maybe-oneshot set in the SGD AU.


I'm still not sure if this was a good idea. Also, I didn't actually watch _Infinity_ before writing this. I don't hate myself that much.

But like Peter Chimaera, I decide to write anyway.

I may adapt this to a non-SGD spinoff, we'll see. I think it could work pretty easily. The question is whether it's worth it or not.

Finally, the question of whether this is a oneshot or not. It's a oneshot for now, but I don't know if it'll stay that way.

* * *

 **SGD::Contact**

 _Joint Base Cheyenne Mountain_

Rear Admiral William Collier frowned as he strode down the concrete corridors of the Cheyenne Mountain facility. As commander of the American Stargate program's main base on Earth, he had some pretty big shoes to fill. Not as big as the four-star in charge of USSTARCOM, of course. He did _not_ envy that man's job.

Admiral Collier had to take several detours on his way to the control room. The Cheyenne Mountain base was a bit of a mess, even a year after they had moved in. Several sections of the base were being built, rebuilt, or torn down.

Calling the handoff a political shitshow was an understatement. In his mind, it never should have happened. The Cheyenne Mountain base was on US soil, yes, but it was already almost complete. Unfortunately, many countries in the Stargate Alliance viewed the location of the base as a wartime expedience, and once the galaxy had settled into a relative peace they wished it moved to a more neutral location.

It took months just to decide on that location, even though it seemed natural in retrospect. Antarctica was politically neutral and also where Atlantis had once stood. Once the decision had been made, a new facility was built and the AESF moved in. Grudgingly, the United States had borne most of the cost of the relocation on the condition that they keep the now-useless Cheyenne Mountain facility. In retrospect, that turned out to be a good decision.

When the United States decided to launch its own Stargate program, the old facility was a natural place to start from. Even with most of the equipment ripped out, it was almost ready to go. Several wings went unused, but the base was well-designed for easy logistics, which was now its primary purpose.

Although the discovery of the nine-chevron dialling mode made having multiple gates on Earth possible, it was still a messy situation. The Cheyenne Mountain gate was programmed to only accept incoming connections to its unique nine-chevron address. While that solved the problem with gates overriding each other, it did not bypass the physical restriction of one wormhole connected to a gate on the planet at a time. The American gate was generally only used to connect with their offworld bases, where most operations were conducted from.

Admiral Collier stepped into the control room. Located above and before the gateroom, the control room was filled with control consoles and rackmounted equipment. This was the nerve centre of the base, where Stargate operations were coordinated from. He barked, "Report."

"Sir, we have a supply shipment to Ticonderoga ready to embark, awaiting your approval," an Air Force colonel told him.

"Approved," Admiral Collier answered. He turned to the gate technician, a Chief Petty Officer in NWUs. "Set destination to Ticonderoga Base and begin the dialling sequence."

"Aye, sir," the technician acknowledged. He typed a few commands on his keyboard and flipped two switches on his control panel. "Address locked in, beginning the dialling sequence."

The Stargate they were using was a conventional Milky Way gate and had once been part of the Intergalactic Gate Bridge before that had been upgraded with the new Lantean/Asgard design. Their dialling software was a modified version of that used by the AESF; they primarily used nine-chevron addresses for security reasons.

Unlike the primitive computer used by the old SGC, their system could dial quickly like a DHD. Consequently, the technician did no call out the first eight chevrons engaging. When the ninth chevron was locked, the gate activated with the familiar unstable vortex. The gate technician reported, "Chevron nine locked. Wormhole established, board is green."

"Send the challenge," Collier ordered. It was standard protocol to confirm that the wormhole was connected to the intended destination and that it hadn't been compromised.

"Sending challenge." With a few taps on his keyboard, the gate technician sent a brief encrypted data burst through the open wormhole. A few moments later, a short data burst came from the other side. "Response received. Confirmed Ticonderoga Base, status nominal."

Collier nodded. "Mission authorized. Send them through."

* * *

 _Joint Base Ticonderoga_

On the other side, four armoured, armed, and fully equipped figures stood impatiently off to the side as they watched the shipment of supplies come through the gate. The Ticonderoga Base gateroom was a near mirror image of the Cheyenne Mountain one- it had in fact been based on the same plans.

"I can't believe we got bumped for a fucking supply shipment," Master Sergeant Jason Zimmerman said to the man beside him. He motioned to the intermodal containers rolling through the Stargate. "I mean, with all due respect, sir, we're a big important exploration mission, and we're bumped for a goddamn supply shipment."

"We blew up half our power supply, so it's kind of important," Lieutenant Commander Michael Nicholson, Navy SEAL and leader of US-1, reminded him. "Besides, we've waited this long, it can wait a bit longer."

Zimmerman turned to the only woman, only civilian, and physically smallest member of their team. "Doctor Simpson, why don't you tell our esteemed leader what's so special about our mission."

"Are you kidding? It's a whole unexplored sector of the galaxy!" she exclaimed, this time managing to not sweep half the people in the room with her rifle. "The whole area wasn't on the Abydos cartouche or the Repository of Knowledge. We found star maps and gate addresses buried in the Atlantis database just a few months ago."

"So, here be monsters?" Shane Morales, an Air Force Major and second in command of the team, asked.

"We don't know what's out there," Simpson agreed. "The Ancients noted that there was primitive sapient life in the sector when they explored it, but we don't know if they're still there or how far they've advanced."

Ahead of them, the gate shut down as the last container was being carted out of the gateroom. "Finally!"

"Logistics transfer completed," a voice informed through their comm systems. "Uniform Sierra One stand by."

"Copy, Ticonderoga, standing by," Nicholson replied automatically.

"Attention all personnel," the loudspeakers blared. "Standby for outgoing connection to unknown destination. Maintain Condition One throughout the base. Dial the gate."

Unlike Cheyenne Mountain, Ticonderoga Base had a proper DHD. It was located under the control room and connected to their dialling computer. The DHD could be bypassed if necessary, but using it between the computer and the stargate was safer and more reliable. In the control room, a technician selected the address and executed a macro, beginning the dialling sequence.

The inner ring of the Stargate began to rotate, the first six chevrons lighting up in sequence until the point of origin symbol was aligned with the top chevron. It moved down and then back up, lighting up as the connection was established. The characteristic unstable vortex followed immediately before the event horizon settled into the familiar puddle. "Chevron seven locked. Stable wormhole established, board is green."

"Send the MALP," Nicholson ordered.

A small, six-wheeled probe exited its parking spot on the other side of the gateroom and slowly made its way up the ramp. Though the AESF preferred far more advanced probes, the American program used a far more primitive type that was almost completely Tau'ri technology. The reasoning was to avoid losing advanced, potentially dangerous technology.

"MALP returning telemetry. Atmosphere is good and so is the terrain," the voice from the control room told them. It was redundant- they could see the data from their suits- but retained out of tradition. "You have a go, Uniform Sierra One."

Nicholson examined the sensor readouts on his HUD before making a decision. He started moving toward a small, open-framed vehicle parked near the edge of the room. "Looks like we get to use the GEV after all."

"Shotgun!" Dr. Simpson called, hopping into the front of the vehicle.

"Hey!" Zimmerman and Morales exclaimed at the same time.

The AFSOC major objected, "She can't do that, sir."

Nicholson laughed. "Sure she can. Don't be such a sore loser, Major, you're embarrassing your whole branch." He climbed into the driver's seat. "Zimmerman, you're on guns this time."

"Yes sir." The Marine climbed inside the vehicle and up through the turret ring, giving the mounted M2HB machine gun a quick once-over.

"Uniform Sierra One, final check," Nicholson ordered. It was standard procedure to run a quick diagnostic on their suits and check over their equipment one last time while they still had a chance.

"Simpson, ready."

"Morales, all good."

"Zimmerman, good to go." He racked the charging handle on his machine gun. "Locked and loaded, sir."

"Nicholson, checked and cleared." There was one final call to make. "Ticonderoga, Uniform Sierra One requests clearance to depart for PR6-308."

"Uniform Sierra One, Ticonderoga. Clear to depart," came the reply. "Good luck out there."

"Thanks." Commander Nicholson pulsed the accelerator pedal, sending them up the ramp, through the wormhole, and across the galaxy.

* * *

 _PR6-308_

"Jesus, I've never seen a place like this before," Major Morales breathed.

Most of the worlds had stargates situated in temperate rainforests or boreal forest, with the occasional desert or tundra planet. This world was unlike anything they had encountered before. The ground was pinkish-grey stone covered in red powder, and the sky was a stormy orange-red. Massive pink crystal spires towered above them, with more visible in the distance.

"You sure the atmosphere is breathable, doc?" Sergeant Zimmerman asked. He swept his machinegun across the odd landscape, searching for threats.

Dr. Simpson was equally enthralled by the landscape, but replied sarcastically, "Considering our suits haven't switched to internal, I'd say there's a good chance that it is."

"Harsh but habitable?" Morales asked.

She nodded. "Harsh but habitable."

"I don't like this place," Zimmerman repeated.

"Maybe the Goa'uld didn't, either," Commander Nicholson suggested. "What do you think, Doctor?"

"That would make sense," she agreed. "I'm not detecting anything dangerous about this world, but the low gravity and marginal atmosphere, as well as the sheer weirdness, would make it very undesirable for human settlement."

"Just a weird alien planet with not a lot to offer," Nicholson surmised. "Any energy signatures or anything like that?"

"It's possible there could be something deep underground or on the other side of the planet, but I'm not picking up anything in our vicinity."

"And the giant fucking crystals?"

"Selenite, with iron oxide inclusions," she answered. "I'd like to take some samples, but as far as I can tell, there's nothing here that could have created those crystals."

"How the hell is that natural?" Zimmerman asked.

"Sadly, I'm not a geologist, so I don't really have an answer for that," Simpson told him. "I mean, it's possible that these crystals were artificially created."

"Well, let's stop and get some samples then," Nicholson said, turning the vehicle and parking it next to one of the massive spires. It could have been a more exciting mission, but at least the crystals were neat to look at and they weren't going to get into a firefight today. "You like samples, right?"

"Yes, sir!" Dr. Simpson jumped off the GEV before it came to a complete stop, bounding across the dusty surface of the planet toward the nearest crystal. She took out a sample bag and a chisel and began chipping off chunks of the pink crystal.

A red warning suddenly appeared in front of Nicholson's eyes. "Shit. Someone just dialled in. Simpson, pack it up!"

"But I just started!" the scientist complained.

"Check your HUD."

"Unknown contacts?" She scanned the data. "Commander, these could be aliens native to this sector!"

"There's a good chance," Nicholson agreed as he climbed into the vehicle. "Okay, they could be hostile or friendly. Weapons tight, try to be friendly unless they start shooting. Simpson, you're driving this time."

"Got it," she replied, taking the driver's seat.

"And if they start shooting, sir?" Morales asked.

"No chances."

Several of the aliens were waiting for them as they approached the stargate. The aliens in question were large and stocky, with rough features and greenish skin. They had four fingers and two toes and wore rough metal armour with gold-trimmed loincloths. They carried gold-headed staffs that appeared to be energy weapons similar to those used as the Goa'uld.

"Trolls?" Morales suggested.

"No, sir, totally Orcs," Zimmerman corrected.

"You both have no idea what you're talking about," Simpson argued.

"Alright, this is a standard first contact. Simpson, park us fifty feet away," Nicholson ordered. "I'll get out and introduce us."

"Good luck, sir,"

Commander Nicholson sighed before jumping out of the vehicle and approaching the aliens. He was totally exposed and he couldn't read their expressions; they could be curious, angry, or anything in between. He had left his rifle in their vehicle and approached with his hands raised into the air. Turning up his voice amplifiers, he introduced, "My name is Mike Nicholson. I'm the leader of US-1, a team of explorers. We are from a planet called Earth. You may know us already as Terrans or Tau'ri."

The aliens replied by raising their staffs and opening fire.

"Open fire! Punch it!" he ordered as one of the blasts slammed into his shields. He broke into a fast run before firing his jump jets and launching himself awkwardly into the cargo compartment of their now moving GEV.

Dr. Simpson mentioned, "Maybe they misunderstood us-"

"Oh, I'm sure they understood!" the Commander shouted back. He unholstered his sidearm and opened fire at the pursuing aliens. "Open fire!"

"Holy fuck!" Sergeant Zimmerman exclaimed. He brought his machinegun around and shredded one of the aliens. They were now far enough away that the staff weapons were nearly useless, but still within the engagement envelope of his M2 machine gun.

"What do we do, wait thirty-eight minutes?" Major Morales asked.

Nicholson considered that for a moment. "No, we don't know what else they're going to bring to the table. Deploy the distress beacon."

* * *

 _USS_ Marshall Sumner

"So, what does the galaxy look like today?" Commander Dustin Garrett asked his sensor officer. He sipped from a mug of strong Navy coffee.

"Well, the Russkies are still puttering around in the Corbulo Arm," the Lieutenant answered. He pointed out a spot on his display. "The AESF is congregating near P4X-351, and this Warpstar is still puttering back and forth in the Verge."

"What about the unknown sector?"

"A whole lot of unknowns, sir. There's- sir, we're picking up a distress beacon!" he exclaimed suddenly. "US-1 is under attack on PR6-308."

Coffee forgotten, the Commander immediately ordered, "Set course for PR6-308 and engage hyperdrive, maximum possible speed."

"Course set, aye," the helm replied. "Engaging hyperdrive."

"Sound General Quarters," Commander Garrett ordered next.

"General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. The flow of traffic is up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on the port," the XO shouted into the 1MC. "This is not a drill."

All across the ship, crew rushed to their duty stations and donned vacuum/fire gear. Hatches and vents were shut and forcefields raised or readied. The CIC was abuzz with activity as the crew made their ship ready to fight.

"Reactor plant to full standby power."

"Raise shields."

"Raise shields aye."

"Charge DEWs, load all guns and make missiles ready in all respects."

"Aspis and Masker in standby mode."

"Sir, I'm detecting what appears to be an observation or communications satellite," the sensor officer reported as they dropped out of hyperspace. "Designate Sierra One. Contact is radiating EM and subspace."

"Take it out?" the XO asked his captain.

"No, we don't know whose satellite it is," Garrett answered. He ordered, "Get our team out of there."

"Uniform Sierra One transported to cargo bay, awaiting decontamination."

"Begin decontam-"

"Sir, two new contacts dropped out of hyperspace," Sensors reported. "Unknown vessel type, similar in size and energy signature to a Goa'uld Ha'tak. Designate unknown contacts Uniform One, Uniform Two."

Commander Garrett marched over to the sensors station and examined the visual readouts. The new contacts were ornate stepped pyramids similar in style to the satellite. He turned away. "We know whose satellite it is now. TAO, kill Sierra One with DEW."

"Aye, sir, close to optimal range and kill."

The _Marshall Sumner_ accelerated and turned, bringing its powerful Asgard-designed beam weapons to bear. A bright blue beam of energy exploded from an emitter near the bow of the ship, lancing through the satellite and obliterating it in one hit.

"Sir, Uniform One and Uniform Two are powering weapons!" Sensors shouted. "They're launching small "

"Helm, evasive manoeuvres, all ahead flank!" Garrett ordered. He'd been half expecting it. "TAO, batteries released, destroy all hostile targets!"

"All batteries released," the TAO acknowledged. "Open fire on Uniform One and Uniform Two with DEW."

"Go active with Masker!"

"Masker active aye!"

"Aspis in aggressive mode, kill all inbound tracks."

"Kill all inbound tracks, aye ma'am!

The strange stepped-pyramid ships were no match for the _Marshall Sumner_ , a USN derivative of the DSC-304 class battlecruiser. Energy bolts streaked from the alien ships and pattered uselessly against her Asgard-designed shields. The _Sumner_ returned fire with energy beams that punched through their shields, ripping massive holes into the stepped pyramids. Small missiles exploded from box launchers and destroyed the enemy fighters before they could even enter their own weapons' range. Railguns and solid-state lasers ripped through the rest.

"Uniform One destroyed, Uniform Two has lost power and is venting atmosphere," the sensor officer replied. "All small hostile craft destroyed."

"Take us back into hyperspace," Commander Garrett ordered. "I've got one hell of a report to write up."

* * *

 _Earth_

"So, you made first contact," General O'Neill said to the US Navy man in front of him. "And you destroyed their ships?"

"They ambushed our team. The _Sumner_ is a warship," Admiral Mullen replied stiffly. "They sent the message that we are not to be trifled with. Agree with it or not, that is the inevitable result of our standing orders."

" _Your_ standing orders?"

"Are yours that different?"

"No," O'Neill admitted. He sighed. "Who are we dealing with?"

"We believe they call themselves the Tlak'khan, but we cannot confirm that at this time," the Admiral replied.

"Okay. What kind of threat are we talking?"

"Technologically, we believe they're similar to the Goa'uld and in fact may have stolen Goa'uld technology, but we cannot confirm that either," he answered. "We have no idea what their numbers look like."

"We need to find out," the General said simply.

"Agreed. The _Sumner_ is still in the sector. A few MC-310s are en route as we speak, and we're considering diverting the _Hornet_ Carrier Strike Group."

"I'm sending the _Hood_ to rendezvous," General O'Neill decided on the spot. "Provided STARCOM has no objections, of course."

He answered, "No, General, in fact our political superiors are already talking about a joint operation."

"Dumping your problems on us, are you, Admiral?" the General asked with an eyebrow raised. The last time they had a joint operation, the AESF had ended up doing most of the work.

"I have no comment."

"Well, it's gonna be a hell of a mess no matter what," O'Neill remarked wryly. "Better take care of it now rather than later."


End file.
